


The Only Story You'll Ever Tell

by The_Bookkeeper



Series: A Kinder Universe [5]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon Compliant, F/M, POV Outsider, Pete's World, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:20:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Bookkeeper/pseuds/The_Bookkeeper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam Price has heard dozens of stories about the Doctor, Torchwood’s best, brightest, bravest (and only) consultant. Now he has the chance to collect one of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> In terms of Pete’s World, set about twelve years after Journey’s End; in terms of the home Universe, sometime before The Pandorica Opens/The Big Bang. Same ‘verse as my other Duplicate Tenth stories, but designed to stand on its own. Also, plot. Lots and lots of plot, and therefore a bit outside my comfort zone. I took some liberties with temporal mechanics and took advantage of the eleventh Doctor's tendency to be exceptionally vague and/or downright untruthful when he explains things. Any feedback you guys can give me would be wonderful.
> 
> (Angela Price was the real name of ‘Mrs. Moore’ from Rise of the Cybermen/Age of Steel, for people who are as bad with names as I am. In Age of Steel she tells the Doctor that she has a husband and children who think she’s dead, information which the Doctor passes on to Jake with the understanding that he’ll inform them of her true end.)

“I heard he speaks every language in the Universe.”  
  
“I heard he has a password with the highest possible clearance, but he hacks the computers instead, because it’s more fun.”  
  
“I heard Adams poisoned his tea once, and he just knocked it back, smiled, and asked for another.”  
  
“I heard he’s a crack shot, too.”  
  
Torchwood Agent Liam Price rolled his eyes. He was beginning to regret speaking so freely about being assigned to a team which included the legendary Doctor. The claims were going from amusingly absurd to blatantly false. Everyone knew that the Doctor didn’t carry weapons.  
  
“No, really!” Brian insisted, his head jerking in a way which was probably supposed to convey his sincerity, but only succeeded in getting his sandy hair in his eyes. “There was this ship, right, and they were trying to negotiate with it, but then it dropped a missile. No warning, no time to do anything but hit the ground — not for most people. But the Doctor just grabs the nine millimeter from the bloke next to him and shoots it. Just like that, it explodes midair, no harm done. A high-speed missile the size of a teacup. With a  _handgun_.”   
  
“That’s the least of it,” said Jamie, leaning forward. “You know why he doesn’t carry weapons himself?”  
  
“Because he doesn’t like them?” Liam theorized long-sufferingly, glancing down at the Boss’s office. She was doing paperwork, probably still annoyed that HQ had commandeered her techy.   
  
“Because he doesn’t  _need_  them. I heard he’s never hit anyone in his whole life, because he just touches your head —” Jamie tapped his fingers against his temple in demonstration. “–and you go out like a light.”  
  
“I heard you go mad,” Brian contradicted.  
  
“He doesn’t even need to touch you,” said Stephen darkly, joining the conversation for the first time. He remained leaning against the railing beside them, limbs held tight to his body and brow lowered in a vaguely sinister expression, as always.   
  
“What d’you mean?” asked Brian, slightly nervously.   
  
“Remember that nutjob militia a few years ago?” asked Stephen, and continued before they could answer. “We got one of their guys, tougher than nails, trained and conditioned to resist interrogation — we worked him for days and couldn’t get a word. Then his people captured Agent Tyler.”  
  
“Damn,” said Jamie, while Brian sucked in a horrified breath and Liam grimaced. Improbable rumors aside, everyone knew that messing with the Tylers was the fastest way in the world to bring the fires of Hell raining down on your head.  
  
“Yeah,” Stephen agreed, still trying to sound nonchalant, though he was obviously pleased by the reaction. “The Doctor walked into the interrogation room, calm as anything, and talked. Just talked. Didn’t lay a finger on him, but when he walked out five minutes later he had everything we needed to know and the nutjob had a serious case of the shakes.”  
  
“Good to know,” said Liam, deadpan. “I was planning on doing everything I possibly could to hack off the Doctor, but now that you’ve told me that, I guess I’ll just be professional.”  
  
Jamie gave a bark of laughter. Stephen glowered and stalked off with an air of affronted dignity.   
  
“No, but seriously,” said Jamie, once their offended colleague was out of sight. “This is incredible, mate. Off to London, to work with the best in the business.” He handed Liam his bag and clapped him on the shoulder. “You’d better bring back some stories.”  
  
“I will,” Liam promised.  
  
~~  
  
His friends’ stories were not what Liam was thinking about on the three-hour driver from the Cardiff branch of Torchwood to London headquarters. He was thinking about the  _other_  stories. The ones which people weren’t so eager to share. People still talked — people would talk about anything — but it was in hushed, fervent whispers in corners, not cheerful storytelling around the coffee pot. They seemed too sacred, too secret, too strange to be spoken aloud.   
  
It was said that the Doctor had lived for longer than Torchwood had existed.  
  
It was said that the Doctor sometimes forgot which language he was speaking and, if you were lucky when he did, you could hear the language of the Universe.  
  
It was said . . .   
  
Well. People would say anything.  
  
~~  
  
Torchwood London was sleek, and impressive, and  _huge_. Liam stared around the spacious lobby, feeling a little lost and more than a little out of place. It was just after noon, and people were streaming past in both directions, talking and laughing and arguing, some shooting him vaguely curious looks, most not giving him a second glance. It was certainly a far cry from the (charmingly) dank and dark compound which housed the five-person Cardiff team.  
  
If some stranger had walked into the Hub, they’d have had a gun to their head before they had time to twitch. The Boss took confidentiality seriously.   
  
“Can I help you, sir?”   
  
Liam turned. A well-groomed man of about forty stood in front of him, holding a cup of coffee, wearing a very nice suit and a look of polite expectation.   
  
“Uh — yeah, sorry, I’m not quite sure where I’m meant to go. I’m Liam Price.” He hastily shifted his bag to his left hand and pulled out his identification.   
  
“Torchwood Cardiff,” said the other man, nodding. He handed the ID back to him and extended his hand. “Welcome to London, Agent Price. I’m Ianto Jones.”  
  
“Thanks,” said Liam, irrationally relieved to have made  _someone’s_  acquaintance. “Agent Simmonds requested me . . .”   
  
“His office is downstairs,” said Agent Jones — Mr. Jones? He looked more like an analyst than a field agent. “I was just headed that way; would you like to accompany me?”  
  
“That would be great, thank you.”   
  
Agent Simmonds wasn’t on the very bottom floor, but it was close. The elevator ride was a long one; just long enough for the silence to grow awkward. Liam was glad when they finally slowed to a stop and the doors slid open.  
  
“Just this way,” said Mr./Agent Jones, leading the way across the half-empty bullpen. Here, Liam attracted a bit more attention; most people spared him at least a passing glance, and he received a piercing look from a sharp-eyed man whom he recognized as the notorious chemist Dr. Adams. The rather unsettling gaze followed him until he and Mr./Agent Jones were down a corridor and out of sight.  
  
“Here we are,” said Mr./Agent Jones as they came to a halt in front of a plain, white door, marked only by a simple bronze nameplate. Mr./Agent Jones gave him a nod of farewell, and was gone before Liam could even voice his thanks. Liam steeled himself, raised his hand to knock, and lowered it abruptly.  
  
After straightening his clothes and smoothing his hair, he really did knock.  
  
“Yeah, it’s open, come in,” came the slightly muffled and also slightly harried response. Fervently hoping that he didn’t look as nervous as he felt, Liam pushed the door open.  
  
The last time he had seen Agent Jake Simmonds had been fifteen years ago, when he had appeared on his doorstep to inform him that his mother was dead. Only nine years old at the time, Liam remembered the day as one of confusion more than grief. Of course his mother was dead. She had been for a while now. Except now it turned out that she hadn’t been, but she was now, and she was a hero . . . .  
  
It had been the second and last time that Liam had seen his father cry.  
  
Agent Simmonds hadn’t been an agent then, of course. He had just been a slightly strange, extremely cool man with spiky hair and clothes like one of those rogue assassins on telly. Liam had decided that he wanted to be just like him when he grew up. But he was too morally conscious to be an assassin, and most government agencies took one look at his school record and wanted to shove him into forensics or IT. Torchwood, it turned out, would give him the excitement he craved and all the alien tech he could dream of. He had leapt at the chance.  
  
All that had brought him here, to the doorway of his idol’s office.   
  
Said idol didn’t look all that different than Liam remembered. His hair was darker and less aggressively gelled, his clothes slightly more reserved, but the scowl on his face as he glared at his paperwork and the curses he muttered under his breath were sharply reminiscent of the surly, incredibly cool young man who had stood in Liam’s childhood home all those years ago.  
  
Liam cleared his throat.   
  
Agent Simmonds looked up, seeming surprised to see Liam standing there.  
  
“Oh, sorry,” he said, setting down his pen and standing. “I wasn’t expecting you until later. Agent Price, isn’t it?”  
  
“Yes, sir,” said Liam, shaking his hand firmly. “Liam Price.”  
  
“Yeah, of course. Met you before, didn’t I? When you were a kid?”  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
There was a beat of silence.  
  
“Suppose we should go and find the Doctor, then,” said Agent Simmonds, and Liam blinked.   
  
“Sorry, sir?”  
  
“Didn’t anyone tell you? It’s him you’re here for, not me.” Agent Simmonds grabbed his coffee from his desk and headed for the door. Liam trailed after him, trying to calm the fluttery mix of excitement and panic which was rising in his chest. His specialty was tech, after all. It only made sense that he would be working with the Doctor, a scientific genius, rather than the head of the entire operation.  
  
“Can I ask — I received very little information, sir — how exactly am I to be involved in this mission?”   
  
“First off, it’s not a mission,” said Agent Simmonds over his shoulder. “And you’ll be involved however the Doctor wants you to be, so damned if I know. I requested you because he asked me to. He’s a consultant; he can’t make official requests himself. Ianto! D’you know where the Doctor is?”  
  
“No, sir,” replied Mr./Agent Jones. “He was here earlier, I believe.”  
  
“Yeah, I know; he stole half my breakfast.” Agent Simmonds sighed and glanced around. “I suppose Adams has buggered off as well.”  
  
“Yes, sir. I could check the cameras, if you like, but Agent Tyler has been away for a few days, now . . .”  
  
“Nah, don’t bother, I’ll just check the labs. I needed a break from paperwork, anyway. C’mon, Agent Price; looks like you’re getting a bit of a tour.”   
  
“Sir, what did he mean, ‘Agent Tyler has been away’?” Liam questioned as he followed him back to the elevator and stepped inside.   
  
“Oh, the Doctor gets a bit stroppy when Rose is out of town,” answered Agent Simmonds, hitting the button for the lowest level. “He hates the surveillance cameras at the best of times, so they’re usually the first to go.”  
  
“. . . oh. And, when you said that it’s not a mission . . .”  
  
“The Doctor doesn’t do missions,” said Agent Simmonds, in a tone of resigned exasperation. “The Doctor does whatever the hell he wants, and right now he wants to work with you. You want to know why, you’ll have to ask him.” The doors slid open with a  _ding_ , just in time for them to witness another door slamming open halfway down the corridor, releasing an outpouring of smoke and a tall, coughing figure.  
  
“Ah,” said Agent Simmonds cheerfully. “There he is now.”


	2. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my technobabble, which I’m sure is an affront to all things scientific.

“Alright there, Doctor?” Agent Simmonds called down the corridor to the choking, hacking man who was apparently Torchwood’s legendary consultant.   
  
“Fine, fine!” the Doctor managed to answer, a gave a few more painful-sounding coughs before straightening up and moving towards them, beyond the worst of the thick smoke which was pouring out of the room behind him. “Blimey. You must be Liam Price!”  
  
“Um, yes sir,” said Liam, grasping the proffered hand. It was uncomfortably cool, but offset by the Doctor’s warm grin. He was taller in person, and thinner, looking like he’d snap in a light breeze. Still, his grip was strong, and when he spoke it was with easy confidence.  
  
“Oh, don’t call me ‘sir’! ‘Doctor’ is perfect. Now, come take a look at this, see if you can tell me what went wrong.”  
  
The Doctor — there was really no other word for it —  _bounced_  back toward the door he had just emerged from, which was still emitting small tendrils of smoke. Liam glanced uncertainly at Agent Simmonds, who just shook his head.   
  
“I did say it’s him you’re here for, didn’t I? You’re welcome, by the way!” he called to the Doctor’s retreating back. The Doctor raised his hand in acknowledgement without turning around. “Well go on,” Agent Simmonds prompted, and Liam jerked into motion, jogging to catch up.  
  
“Sorry about the smoke,” the Doctor said as Liam stepped into the room.   
  
“No problem,” said Liam. In truth, his eyes and throat were already starting to sting, but he barely noticed it as he fixed his gaze on the source of the smog.   
  
To the untrained eye it was little more than a pile of wires and spare parts, but he had spent his entire life dismantling, analyzing, and reconstructing every piece of technology he could get his hands on, and in the past three years his reach had extended considerably. The still-sparking contraption in front of him was a device of incredible complexity, artifacts from every corner of the Universe tied together with duct tape and twine. From where he was standing, glued to the spot, Liam could see the battery from a modern mobile, the transmitter from a fifty-third century teleport, and the needle from an archaic gramophone — and that was just what he could recognize.   
  
It was brilliant. It was  _beautiful_.  
  
“What do you see?”  
  
Liam started at the Doctor’s voice. He had nearly forgotten that anyone else was in the room with him. He could feel dark eyes boring into the side of his head, and kept his own on the machine.  
  
“I, er —” He coughed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “It looks some sort of communication device — no, wait, a scanner. It’s meant to scan for . . .” He leaned forward, trying to get a better look. “. . . energy? Yeah, some kind of energy signature. Maybe . . . temporal energy? Looks like an overload. Like it found something more powerful than it could handle.”   
  
He finally chanced a look at the Doctor. The older (much older, if the stories were true) man was grinning, somewhere between a proud parent and a dog owner whose Terrier had learned to roll over.   
  
“Very good!” he praised. “Spot on! Well, almost. Ninety percent. Maybe eighty. Best as can be expected, anyway.”   
  
Before Liam could decide whether he ought to be offended, he found himself dragged around the machine in a surprisingly strong grip.  
  
“It  _is_  a scanner, and it  _is_  scanning temporal energy — artron energy, to be precise. There are other types, but that’s the easiest to pick up with the equipment we have access to. It’s looking for a change more than a signature. A continual change, in fact. A state of flux, if you will — and  _that’s_  why it went kaput on me. It was looking for the tide, and what it got was a whirlpool.”  
  
“. . . . what?”   
  
“The artron energy,” said the Doctor, ceasing in his elaborate gestures and looking Liam straight in the eye. “It’s not fluctuating. It’s disappearing.”  
  
Liam felt that he would probably have been a lot more alarmed by that statement if he had any idea what the Doctor was talking about. As it was, all he managed was a vague sense of concern and a rather lame “Oh.”   
  
The Doctor deflated slightly.  
  
“Tell you what,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll explain to you over lunch. Have you eaten?”  
  
“No, s — Doctor.”  
  
“Excellent!” The Doctor grabbed a well-worn trench coat from where it was draped over a bank of computers. “We’ll ask Dr. Adams to join us.”  
  
 _Now_  Liam was alarmed. He had only seen Dr. Adams for a few seconds and the man already made his skin crawl. It didn’t help that the chemist had a (unproven) reputation for poisoning people who annoyed him. His trepidation must have shown on his face, because the Doctor gave him a reassuring smile.  
  
“Don’t let him scare you. Trust me, you’re perfectly safe.”  
  
“I suppose he’s a cuddly kitten underneath,” said Liam evenly, following him out of the room. The Doctor gave a bark of dry laughter.  
  
“No, not at all. He’s a rat inside a snake inside a fox. But you’re on our team, so he won’t touch you. Isn’t that right, Dr. Adams?”  
  
Liam jumped. Watching the elevator display tick towards their floor number, he hadn’t noticed Dr. Adams sidling up to the Doctor’s other side.  
  
“Only because crossing you is more trouble than it’s worth,” said Dr. Adams, stepping into the elevator with them.   
  
“Ah, don’t listen to him,” said the Doctor cheerfully. “He loves me.”   
  
Dr. Adams shot him a venomous look.  
  
~~  
  
Liam shifted, trying to pretend that his discomfort stemmed from the cheap plastic chair he was sitting in, and not the black eyes which glittered at him maliciously from across the table. Adams kind of reminded him of Stephen, except that Stephen, despite his best efforts, never managed to give the impression that he would  _actually_  murder anyone who annoyed him. The Doctor chattered at Liam’s side, apparently oblivious to the air of impending homicide which his dining companion was exuding.  
  
“. . . though, really, nothing can beat a good old-fashioned home cooked meal. A whole  _planet_  devoted to perfecting the dining experience, but they’re still missing that little something . . . sorry, where was I?”  
  
“Disappearances which aren’t disappearances,” Liam supplied. To his relief, Adams dropped his gaze to examine his nails in a show of grand disinterest.  
  
“Ah! Right. The thing is, there a people who don’t exist who should do. And it’s not just that they don’t exist — it’s that they  _did_  exist, but now they never have.”  
  
“If they never existed,” said Liam slowly, “how do you know they did? Or should have. Or whatever.” He frowned. Five minutes in and the grammar alone was giving him a headache.  
  
“Oh, well, causality’s a tricky thing,” said the Doctor. “It’s nearly impossible to wipe someone from time completely, even if it is deliberate, which it may not be. They always leave traces behind. Children without parents, stories without authors, widows who were never married. I have other reasons, too, but that’s . . . not something we should discuss here.”  
  
Liam glanced around. They were in the Torchwood cafeteria. Everyone in the room had at least Level Three clearance, including the servers. Then again, the Doctor had probably forgotten more confidential knowledge than most people ever possessed.   
  
“So, um, is there anyone else involved in this investigation?” Liam questioned.  
  
“Nope, just us,” replied the Doctor cheerfully. “The Three Musketeers. One for all and all for — oh, hang on.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a buzzing mobile, his face lighting up when he saw the caller. “It’s Rose,” he informed them, before answering it.  
  
“Well, hello to you too. Having fun in the States? . . . . Oh, ah, let me think — Luke Rattigan. George Washington’s ghost. That one bloke, with the — the face and the sort of weird name and he never seems to age —. . . . Oh, alright, who? . . . .  _No._  You’re kidding! Really? . . . . He didn’t have another Dalek in his basement, did he? . . . . Well, that’s good, then. . . . . No, but I’d bet you ten quid Keanu Reeves is an alien. . . . .”  
  
Liam chanced a look at Dr. Adams, who was looking exaggeratedly bored. Either he just always looked bored, or was used to hearing one side of a rather strange conversation. Liam suspected that it was a bit of both.  
  
“. . . Have you, now? I think I’m getting close to a breakthrough here, actually. . . . . Yeah, yeah, and Jake got Liam Price up from Torchwood Cardiff for me. Say hello, Liam.”  
  
Liam blinked at the mobile which was suddenly held a couple centimeters from his nose.   
  
“Er . . . hello.”  
  
 _“Hello, Liam,”_  came Agent-Heiress-Famous Rose Tyler’s voice in reply. Even faint and tinny as it was, Liam could hear the fond amusement in it, and didn’t think for a moment that it was directed at him.  
  
“Yeah, he’s brilliant,” said the Doctor, putting the phone back to his own ear and giving Liam a thumbs-up. “. . . . Yes, it’s fine. . . . . I’ll repair them eventually . . . .” The Doctor’s tone shifted, his voice softer and his eyes darker, and Liam glanced away. “Listen, Rose, whatever we’re dealing with, it’s dangerous. Very dangerous. I’m not even sure what it is yet, so don’t go poking at it. Not without me. . . . . Rose, please — . . . Thank you. I will. . . . I love you.”  
  
Liam rarely heard those three words spoken with such sincerity.  
  
“Right then,” said the Doctor as he tucked away his phone, bright and chipper again in an instant. “Where were we?”  
  
~~  
  
“Rose says there have been the same sort of disappearances over in the States, so that means that it’s probably at least planet-wide,” said the Doctor, voice slightly muffled by the wires he held between his teeth. Liam was already holding a delicate part in one hand and using the other to hand him tools when he asked for them. Dr. Adams was lounging on the battered sofa which sat incongruously in the corner of the shining, high-tech lab.   
  
Liam shot him a resentful look.  
  
“Just ignore him. He’s trying to get under your skin,” said the Doctor, holding up two microchips to the light. From what Liam could see, they looked identical. “He gets jealous,” the Doctor added in a stage whisper.  
  
He tossed one of the microchips aside and set to work installing the other one in his slightly modified machine.  
  
“Once I get this recalibrated, we’ll be able to track down whatever it is that’s gobbling up timelines like those fancy little hors d'oeuvres with the frilly toothpicks. You ever had those, Liam?”  
  
“Once or twice,” said Liam. They had seemed a bit pointless, to him. Food, in his opinion, was meant to be tasty, not pretty.  
  
“Marvelous, aren’t they?” said the Doctor rhetorically. “Can’t say I’m fond of all the events and such, but I do love the nibbles.”   
  
“Do you go to a lot of those?” Liam questioned curiously. He had almost forgotten that, outside of Torchwood, the Doctor had an entirely different sort of reputation to uphold. Or, as Liam was beginning to see was probably more likely, to completely ignore while his father-in-law’s PR department scrambled to keep it upright.   
  
“Not if I can help it.” The machine gave a stuttering buzz, sputtered out, then sputtered back to life when the Doctor smacked it. “There we go. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love a party,” he continued, even as he observed the machine, occasionally reaching out to make minute adjustments. “But there’s only so many black-tie ballroom birthday bashes you can sit through before it gets a bit — aha!”   
  
A lens of the machine flickered on, projecting a series of ones and zeros onto the wall. Liam assumed that they were the results, but they were in raw binary code. He probably could have interpreted them, but only with a detailed explanation of the machine, a pen and paper, and several hours. Dr. Adams, who had jerked upright upon the projection’s appearance, seemed just as lost.  
  
The Doctor, on the other hand, was frowning in concentration as his eyes tracked the flow of numbers, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. He was muttering under his breath, and Liam didn’t think it was English. At last he trailed off, his frown deepening for a moment before it fell away completely, leaving a look of complete and utter shock.  
  
The Doctor stepped backwards, eyes wide and dark in his suddenly pale face, and Liam felt a surge of dread.  
  
“That’s not good,” the Doctor said softly, more to himself than to anyone else. “That is . . . well, that’s really quite extremely Not Good.”  
  
“Doctor?” Dr. Adams questioned sharply, all pretense of boredom discarded.  
  
The Doctor shook himself, another bright grin snapping into place. Either his false smile was identical to his genuine one, or his smile was always false. Or he was completely insane. Liam really wished that he could say for certain that one of those wasn’t a realistic possibility.   
  
“Nothing, nothing! Nothing that we should worry about right now, anyway. Right now, I’ve got a fix on the closest disturbance. Allons-y!”  
  
He snatched up his coat, pulled it on, and was out the door in a flurry of coattails. Liam followed him while Dr. Adams gave an exaggerated sigh and stood.   
  
“Where are we going?” Liam asked, jogging to catch up.   
  
“Leadworth!”


	3. Chapter 3

“Up we go!” said the Doctor, pressing the button for the ground floor with what Liam felt was unwarranted enthusiasm. “No, wait, hang on.” He prodded the button for Agent Simmonds’ floor instead, and they jerked to a halt. He stuck his head out the door. “Ianto! Tell Jake we’re going to Leadworth.”  
  
“Will you be taking one of the Land Rovers, sir?” Mr./Agent Jones questioned evenly, pausing in front of the elevator.   
  
“Nah; we’ll just take my car.”  
  
“I’m not going anywhere if you’re driving,” said Dr. Adams sharply. The Doctor rolled his eyes, but didn’t argue.  
  
“Yes, alright, we’ll take a Land Rover. Liam will drive.”   
  
“What?” asked Liam, thrown.  
  
“Well we can’t let him drive,” said the Doctor, jerking a thumb at Dr. Adams. “Not if we want to get there this week.”  
  
“Just because I don’t treat speed limits as suggestions —”  
  
“Will you be requiring anything else, sir?” Mr./Agent Jones cut in.  
  
“Nope, that should be it. Thanks, Ianto.”  
  
“Not at all. But Doctor?”   
  
The Doctor reached out and stopped the doors which were beginning to slide shut now that he wasn’t leaning against them.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Please don’t cannibalize the Land Rover for parts. I’m the one who has to do the paperwork when you destroy Torchwood property.”  
  
“Ah,” said the Doctor with an apologetic grimace. “Right. Yes. Sorry. I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
“Safe travels.”  
  
~~   
  
“Would you get your foot off the back of my seat?”  
  
“Mmm . . . no.”  
  
“Look, I called shotgun first; there’s no use sulking about it.”  
  
“It makes me feel better.”  
  
“Okay, seriously —”  
  
“What are you going to do, tell Mummy?”  
  
Liam groaned. His passengers (both of whom were older than him and supposedly geniuses) had been bickering like this for the past five minutes. It was like being back home with his two younger brothers.  
  
“I swear to god, I am the only adult in this car,” he muttered. Beside him, the Doctor grinned.  
  
“Are we there yet?” he asked, and continued before Liam could formulate a response to that. “Wait a sec; I’ve got another call coming in. Blimey, I’m popular today.” He extracted his phone from his pocket.   
  
“Hello! . . . . Nope, sorry. I’m working. . . . . Well have you asked your mother? . . . . Well, obviously not, but she could at least drive you. . . . . No, I really can’t. . . . .Yeah, something like that. . . . .Right, you do that. Good luck.”  
  
The Doctor hung up, his brow creasing in confusion.  
  
“Is it normal for thirteen-year-olds to have girlfriends?” he questioned no one in particular.  
  
“Sounds a bit early to me,” said Liam, when it became clear that Dr. Adams was back to silent disinterest. Honestly, Liam didn’t even know why he was there. The man was a chemist; there was no logical reason for him to be in the field with them. “But then, girls weren’t exactly lining up for me. Didn’t know you had kids,” he added, glancing sideways at the Doctor.  
  
“Oh, I don’t, not anymore. That was Tony. Rose’s brother,” he added in response to Liam’s questioning look. “I take it you don’t read the tabloids.”  
  
“Never really saw the appeal,” said Liam with a shrug. “The Boss says they get things right every once and a while, y’know, alien babies and things, but not often enough to be worth the money. And the celebrity stuff — she’d never let us hear the end of it if she caught any of us reading that rubbish.”  
  
“Smart woman,” said the Doctor approvingly. “The whole thing’s a bit ridiculous, really. Never really noticed  _how_  ridiculous until I ended up on the receiving end.”  
  
“Must’ve been a shock,” Liam commented.   
  
“Oh, you have no idea,” he said, and there was a note in his voice which made Liam glance over at him. He was looking out the window, making it difficult to read his expression.   
  
The official story was that the Doctor had been a top-secret agent up until about twelve years ago when he had fallen for Rose Tyler and transferred to the less dangerous role of consultant, at which time his past was erased for security reasons. The unofficial story, widely accepted among Torchwood employees, was that he had followed his wife from the same mysterious place in which she had originated. Neither version, however, had much to say on what his life had been like before his arrival to the public eye.  
  
If even half the stories about his abilities were true, it must have been incredible — and incredibly dangerous. Somehow it was difficult to reconcile that idea with a stick-thin man whose spiky hair was graying at the temples, especially after watching said man ramble about nibbles, crow in triumph at calling shotgun, and be confused by a thirteen-year-old’s love life.   
  
Then again . . . Liam recalled the Doctor’s eyes when he interpreted that binary code. Maybe he had just been imagining things, but he had thought he had seen something, in that moment of shock. Some crack in a mask, some glimpse of darkness.   
  
He shook himself. He was being stupid, letting Stephen’s stories get to him. Whether they were true or not, the Doctor was only a man. A brilliant, overwhelming, possibly mad man, but a man all the same.  
  
Said man began to hum to himself. He was slightly off key.  
  
Liam sighed. It was going to be a long drive.  
  
~~  
  
It was late afternoon by the time they rumbled into Leadworth. It was a tiny town, and its residents peered at them curiously and whispered to each other as they passed.   
  
“Any idea  _where_  in Leadworth we’re going, Doctor?” Liam questioned, glancing at his passenger — and then glancing at him again. The Doctor was digging around in the pocket of his coat. In fact, he was elbow-deep in the pocket of his coat, and reaching deeper as Liam watched in astonishment.   
  
“Dimensionally transcendental,” said the Doctor, catching his look. “Took me years to figure out how to do it from scratch. Still can’t use one of our cupboards. Everything ends up half-eaten, and I mean  _everything_. Think I may have accidentally created some sort of spatial multi-fold which connected it to a den of Omnivorous Ontologs — ah, there we go.”  
  
He had extracted something which had once been a mobile but was now . . . some sort of receiver. Probably it gave remote access to the cumbersome machine back in London, Liam guessed.  
  
“If that’s my mobile, you ought to be prepared to guard your food very carefully for some time,” said Dr. Adams, very calmly.   
  
“Don’t be ridiculous,” said the Doctor, completely unperturbed by the not-very-veiled threat. “It’s Jake’s. Okay, go about half a mile . . . that way.” The Doctor pointed directly ahead of them, where there was, fortunately, an actual road.   
  
“What are we looking for?” Liam asked as they drove out of the village square and onto a bridge.  
  
“Temporal disturbance,” said the Doctor distractedly. “No idea what it will look like; might not even be visible to you two . . . stop!”  
  
Liam stamped on the brakes, and Dr. Adams gave a muffled curse from the backseat and he slammed forward. They were in front of a fairly large, charmingly dilapidated sort of house, with an overgrown garden and ivy creeping up its sides. The Doctor was clambering out of the car before Liam could even get his safety belt off, and by the time he caught up the erratic consultant was already on the doorstep. Liam couldn’t comprehend how he had managed to navigate the uneven dirt path without taking his eyes off the receiver.  
  
“Oh,” said the Doctor, wrinkling his nose at the painted blue door in front of him as if he found it personally offensive. “The disturbance is inside. Ah, well,” he said, brightening again. “Time to make some new friends, Liam. Try to look less evil,” he added over his shoulder to Dr. Adams, who rolled his eyes.  
  
The Doctor rapped on the door. A few moments later it swung open, and they were greeted with the sight of a small boy peering up at them from under a mop of ginger hair.  
  
“Hello,” said the Doctor, his smile widening. “I’m the Doctor. What’s your name?”  
  
“Felix,” said the boy, who looked about six and was eying them warily.   
  
“Nice to meet you, Felix. This is Liam and Dr. Adams.”  
  
Liam waved awkwardly.  
  
“Are your mum and dad home?” the Doctor asked.  
  
“Mummy is,” said Felix, and called over his shoulder at the top of his voice, “ _Mummy!_ ”  
  
Beside him, Liam felt Dr. Adams cringe. The Doctor merely rocked back on his heels as an answering voice — female and Scottish — echoed back to them.  
  
“Yeah, I’m coming; keep your shirt on!” A woman appeared from the back of the house. She was maybe ten years older than Liam, but undeniably attractive, fiery red hair framing her pretty face, tight leggings doing very little to hide her slim figure. “Hang on,” she said, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she came to stand beside her son. “I know you,” she stated, frowning at the Doctor.  
  
“You might, yeah,” he agreed. “Mind if we come in?”  
  
He tried to slip past her without waiting for a reply, but she stopped him with a well-manicured hand on his chest and a glare which could melt lead.   
  
“I do mind, actually. Who are you and what do you want?”  
  
The Doctor fell back, looking surprised and mildly impressed. Liam was rather impressed himself. She was the first person he had seen stand in the Doctor’s way, proving herself more daring than a procession of Torchwood agents and one cold-blooded chemist.  
  
“I’m the Doctor. This is Dr. Adams and Agent Price, Torchwood.” The Doctor pulled out his credentials with a flourish. “Something is wrong with time, and at least part of whatever’s causing it is inside this house. We’re here to put it right.”  
  
The woman examined the ID for a moment, then handed it back.   
  
“What do you mean, wrong with time?”  
  
“Well,” said the Doctor, drawing out the word and tugging on his ear. “Bit hard to explain, really, harder for humans to detect — do you ever get the feeling that you’re missing something important? You remember things that couldn’t have happened; or turn to say something to someone who’s never been there?”  
  
She was frowning at him, not understanding or maybe refusing to, and he lowered eyes to fix her with a dark, direct stare.   
  
“You’ve lived here a while, yeah? Ever since you were a little girl. Live long enough with a temporal disturbance, your life stops making sense.”  
  
Her anger was ebbing, defiance giving way to fear as something in his words hit home.  
  
“Felix, go play outside,” she ordered her son, her eyes never leaving the Doctor’s. The boy, who had been watching the exchange with wide-eyed fascination, opened his mouth as if to protest. “ _Now._ ”  
  
“Yes, Mummy.”   
  
The boy fled, and his mother stepped back to allow them inside.  
  
“Amy Williams,” she introduced herself. “Let’s talk.”  
  
~~  
  
“Tea?” Mrs. Williams questioned as they stepped into her kitchen.  
  
“Yes, please,” answered Liam.   
  
Dr. Adams merely shook his head in silent refusal. The Doctor didn’t even seem to hear her, too busy examining the drawings and photographs which adorned the walls and refrigerator.   
  
“Dr. Smith?” Mrs. Williams prompted, beginning to look annoyed again.  
  
“If it’s not too much trouble,” the Doctor answered without looking around. “Three sugars, please. And it’s just ‘the Doctor,’ actually.”  
  
“What, all the time? That’s the only thing people call you, ‘the Doctor’?”  
  
“Yup. Well, occasionally they call me other things, but most of those aren’t terribly flattering.”  
  
She was frowning as she put the kettle on, more thoughtful than irritated.  
  
“What you said,” she began, “about remembering things that couldn’t have happened, and things not making sense.”  
  
“Yes?” the Doctor prompted, straightening up and turning to face her. She drew in a breath and lifted her chin. When she spoke her voice was bold and defiant, as if daring them to laugh at her.  
  
“When I was a kid, I had an imaginary friend.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I had a dream about him, when I was seven. We had only just moved here, and I was really scared of this crack in my wall. A box fell out the sky and he fell out of the box and helped with the crack and promised to take me away, and, I don’t know, I guess I just didn’t want to let him go. So I started making up stories, with drawings and dolls and things. I always knew he wasn’t real, but sometimes . . . sometimes it seemed like he was more real than anything.”  
  
“And he called himself the Doctor?” The real Doctor had gone very still, his eyes never wavering from Mrs. Williams face as she spoke.  
  
“Yeah.”   
  
“The box, the one he fell out of, what did it look like?” There was an odd intensity to the Doctor’s questions, an almost feverish sheen to his eyes. Liam could feel himself tensing reflexively and hear Dr. Adams shifting behind him.  
  
“It was . . . blue. Said ‘Police’ on it. And it had a light on top.”  
  
“And —” The Doctor hesitated, conviction fading, his next question softer, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. “What did he look like? Your imaginary friend?”  
  
“Funny,” said Mrs. Williams, smiling, her eyes going distant. “I used to call him the Raggedy Doctor, because his clothes were all torn up and didn’t fit him right. Except . . .” She trailed off, and when she started up again it was with less nostalgia and more fear. “I’ve started dreaming about him again.”  
  
The kettle began to whistle, and they all jumped. Mrs. Williams moved to turn it off, but the Doctor beat her to it. He was suddenly right in front of her, his hand on the kettle, his eyes on hers.   
  
“Tell me.”  
  
“Amy?”  
  
The Doctor gave a growl of frustration as Liam turned to see the source of the interruption. It was an average, unremarkable sort of man, looking bewildered as he stared at them all.  
  
“Hello, Rory,” Mrs. Williams greeted.  
  
“What —? Oh my god,” said the man — presumably Mr. Williams — stepping forward and pointing at the Doctor. “That’s — that’s that mysterious Torchwood bloke; Rose Tyler’s husband. That’s Dr. John Smith.”  
  
“Yep, that’s me,” said the Doctor, with a smile which didn’t even attempt to reach his eyes and had the end result of making him look a bit mad. “Hello.”   
  
“What — what is Dr. John Smith doing in our kitchen?” Mr. Williams asked his wife, a little frantically.  
  
“Investigating,” she hissed, and then elbowed him. “Stop staring and make the tea.”  
  
“Right,” said Mr. Williams, still looking hopelessly lost. “Yes. Tea. Um. Nice to meet you,” he added, giving them all an awkward wave. Liam returned it, giving him an apologetic smile, but didn’t think it wise to speak when the Doctor was practically vibrating with tension.  
  
“Your dreams, Amy,” he said impatiently.  
  
“Well, they started a while after the wedding,” said Mrs. Williams, looking slightly startled by his forcefulness. “It’s only every once in a while, but it’s always sort of in sequence, like a TV programme or something. The Doctor came back, twelve years late. Then he left again, and came back, and . . . and he took me away. Just like he said he would. He was dressed different, looked like a kid in his grandfather’s clothes, with braces and a tweed jacket and this stupid bowtie . . .”  
  
She had a fond smile on her face and warm affection in her voice. If Liam had no other information, he would have said that she was speaking not about a dream but about her best friend.  
  
“Took you away in his TARDIS,” said the Doctor, and he wasn’t asking anymore. “Took you out into time and space and showed you the stars.”  
  
“How do you know that?” asked Mrs. Williams sharply, the spell broken, her gaze suddenly hard and angry. “You can’t know that! They’re dreams; that’s all. They’ve got to be.”  
  
“And why’s that?”   
  
“Because . . . because they don’t make any sense!” she burst out. “There’s a box that’s also a spaceship and it’s big and small at the same time and Rory dies and isn’t dead the Doctor is young and old and funny and scary and always cheerful and sad all the time and — how can any of that be real?”  
  
“Amy Williams.” The Doctor grinned suddenly, wide and toothy and just a touch manic. “Let’s go see about that crack in your wall.”  
  
He spun on his heel and dashed from the room, leaving everyone else to scurry after him with varying degrees of confusion, leaving the tea things abandoned.  
  
“What does the crack in my wall have to do with anything?” Mrs. Williams demanded, running up the stairs behind him. “It’s not even there anymore; we fixed it ages ago.”  
  
“You fixed the wall,” said the Doctor distractedly. He had come to a halt at the top of the stairs, eyes slightly unfocused, head cocked as if listening for something. “The crack isn’t in the wall.” He got a fix on whatever he was looking for, turned, and slowly pushed open a nearby door. “Ah. There you are.”  
  
Liam frowned. From what he could see, the room was mind-numbingly normal, dimly lit and stacked with dusty cardboard boxes. The walls were painted pink and adorned with flower decals.  
  
“Doctor, what do you mean, ‘the crack isn’t in the wall’?” he questioned.  
  
“The crack is in the fabric of time and space,” said the Doctor, moving into the room with more caution than Liam had ever seen from him. “Feel that? There’s a draft. But where from?” He began to dig through his pockets.  
  
“You talk like him,” said Mrs. Williams, eyes wide and face white. Her husband tried to lay a comforting hand on her arm, but she shook him off, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at the Doctor. “You — you talk like him and you call yourself the Doctor and you know all these things about my dreams.”  
  
“Oh, well, you know —” the Doctor began, still focused on his pockets, obviously stalling until he could think of a way to brush her off. Mrs. Williams didn’t give him the chance.   
  
The redhead surged forward, seized the Doctor by his lapels, and shoved him against the wall. Her husband gave an alarmed ‘Amy!’, Dr. Adams let out a startled oath, and Liam twitched compulsively towards his gun before he restrained himself, registering that the Doctor looked more surprised than anything.  
  
“Who are you?” Mrs. Williams demanded fiercely.   
  
“I’m the Doctor.”  
  
“Not my Doctor,” she stated, shaking her head.  
  
“No,” he agreed. “Not your Doctor. But I was, once. Or rather, he was me. It’s a long story.”  
  
She released him and back up a few steps, crossing her arms over her chest.   
  
“Then you’d better start talking.”  
  
The Doctor sighed, shucking off his coat and tossing it to Liam, who barely caught it in time.   
  
“Find the multi-dimensional scanner for me, will you? Now, Amy, here’s what you have to understand: there is more than one Universe. There are innumerable worlds, all stacked up next to each other, and some of them have parallel Earths, with parallel Leadworths and parallel Amy Williamses. Follow me so far?”  
  
“I — I think so. Is that what you are?” she asked. “A parallel Doctor? Am I dreaming about an alternate Universe?”  
  
“No,” said the Doctor firmly. “I mean, yes, you are dreaming about an alternate Universe, but I’m not a parallel Doctor. The Doctor is a Time Lord, and there are no parallel Time Lords. There’s just him, and, well . . . me.”  
  
“You’re an alien?” Mrs. Williams questioned, somewhat disbelievingly, while her husband made a choking sound. Liam had yet to hear anything which actually surprised him. Technically, the fact that the Doctor wasn’t entirely human was supposed to be confidential, but people talked.   
  
‘Time Lord’ was kind of a ridiculous title, though. No wonder he didn’t brag about it.  
  
“Yes. Well, no. Partially. I’m . . .” The Doctor twitched a little, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. “I’m his clone. His part-human clone. And that does not leave this room!”  
  
 _Now_  Liam was surprised. The Doctor was so legendary, so much larger than life, it seemed impossible that he was anything but the one and only. Now he was saying that there was another him somewhere — not just another him, but the  _original_  him.   
  
Liam was shaken from his thoughts when his hand brushed something uncomfortably organic. He grimaced, and sank his arm further into the pocket of the Doctor’s coat.  
  
“If you’re his clone, how come you don’t look like him?” Mrs. Williams challenged.  
  
“Because he’s regenerated. He used to look like me, but he changed his face — changed everything — in order to heal himself when he was dying.  _Long_  story,” the Doctor said, cutting off Mrs. Williams as she opened her mouth again. “The point is, I . . . came into existence in that Universe, but he left me in this one — because you can’t have two of me running around; creates all sorts of problems. I have all his memories up until the point where I was created; that’s how I know about the TARDIS and such, and  _that’s_  how I know that your dreams are not just dreams.”  
  
“Why did he make you?” asked Mr. Williams, and then hastily backtracked at the Doctor’s look. “Not that he shouldn’t have, or anything; I mean, you seem like a perfectly . . . real . . . I’m going to shut up now.”  
  
“Might be a good idea, yeah.”  
  
“Doctor.” Liam had finally managed to find something which looked like it could probably function as a multi-dimensional scanner.   
  
“Right, thank you, Liam,” said the Doctor, snatching it from his hand and spinning towards the wall. “I’ll be able to use this to get a few preliminary readings . . .”  
  
“Is your wife from the other Universe?” asked Mrs. Williams suddenly.  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“So, the other Doctor — the first one; my Doctor — he knew her.”  
  
“Yep.”  
  
“Did he love her?”  
  
The Doctor tensed, his back going rigid and what little Liam could see of his face going stormy.  
  
“Don’t,” was all he said, but that one word was enough to send shivers up Liam’s spine.  
  
“But if he loved her —”  
  
“Mrs. Williams.” It was Dr. Adams who cut her off, stepping forward with a tight smile. “Your son has been outside by himself for quite a while; don’t you think you ought to check him?”  
  
Mrs. Williams hesitated, her eyes flickering between the two doctors.   
  
“I’ll come with you,” said Dr. Adams, his tone broking no argument as he moved so as to force her towards the door. “I could use the fresh air.”  
  
“Alright, fine,” Mrs. Williams huffed. “Don’t go knocking any holes in my house!” she added to the Doctor, who gave her a wave of acknowledgment without looking up. Her husband hovered uncertainly for a moment before chasing after her.  
  
Liam was left alone with the Doctor, the gently buzzing scanner, and his thoughts.   
  
No matter what story of the Doctor’s origins one ascribed to, they all had one thing in common: the Doctor loved Rose Tyler, enough to give anything and everything up for her. If what Mrs. Williams questions had been getting at was true — and the Doctor’s reaction suggested that it was — then the original him had loved her just as much. So why would he send her to another Universe?   
  
Unless . . .  
  
Unless he loved her enough to give  _her_  up.  
  
“Stop it.”  
  
Liam jumped at the sharp command.   
  
“Stop what?” he questioned, bewildered.  
  
“Speculating.”  
  
“How did you —?”  
  
“To be frank, you’re really, really obvious about it. Next time, try not to stare at the back of my head quite so intently.”  
  
“Sorry.”  
  
They fell into silence again — but only for a few moments, and then it was broken by the slightly nervous voice of Mr. Williams.   
  
“They’re, um, right in there.”  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
The answering voice was female and vaguely familiar, and its effect on the Doctor was palpable. He straightened up and spun around, the dark cloud which had descended on him evaporating, his eyes alight with anticipation. Then Rose Tyler stepped into the room, and he  _grinned_. Liam thought it might have been the first real grin he saw from him — or the realest one, anyway. It was something about the eyes.  
  
“Rose!” the Doctor exclaimed, his voice filled with delight. Agent Tyler grinned back, her tongue caught between her teeth, and in an instant they had closed the space between them.  
  
Liam suddenly became very interested in his wristwatch.  
  
“I thought you weren’t getting back until tomorrow,” the Doctor said, once they finally broke apart.  
  
“Well it was  _going_  to be a surprise, but then Jake called and said you’d run off to Leadworth, of all places. Hello, by the way,” said Agent Tyler, turning to Liam before the Doctor could respond. “Rose Tyler.”  
  
“Yes, ma’am,” said Liam. “Uh, I mean, I’m Liam. Liam Price.” He flushed a little in embarrassment, but she just smiled warmly.  
  
“Nice to meet you in person, Liam,” she said, before turning back to the Doctor. “What are you doing here, anyway? Actually, what’s Dr. Adams doing here? You can’t just drag him around with you everywhere, you know; he’s not your pet.”  
  
“I get lonely when you’re away!” the Doctor defended.  
  
“You’ve got Liam, haven’t you?”  
  
“Dr. Adams gets lonely when I’m away,” the Doctor modified. “He just pines away and dies.”  
  
“What, like a gerbil?”  
  
“Exactly,” he replied solemnly. She shook her head in exasperation, but there was amusement in her eyes.  
  
“‘Course he does,” she said, and then turned serious. “What’s all this about, then? You find whatever’s causing all those people not to exist?”  
  
“I think so, yep. One of them, anyway. As soon as this finishes — ah.” The scanner beeped where he had left it on the ground, and he scooped it up, squinting at the display. “Alright,” he said at last. “There’s good news and bad news. Good news is, I was right. Bad news is, I was right.  
  
“This is very, very Not Good.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More technobabble. Many apologies to anyone who knows anything about science. Warning: very brief reference to miscarriage/death of a child.

As it turned out, it was Agent Tyler, not the fiery Mrs. Williams, who eventually dragged them from the house.  
  
“But I need to build a hypersensitive multi-wave extrapolator so I can get better readings!” the Doctor protested.   
  
“Doctor. Is that whatever-it-is going to destroy anything important in the next twelve hours?”  
  
“There is a distinct possibility that the Multiverse will collapse in on itself, causing all of Reality to never have existed.”  
  
Liam would have assumed that he was being facetious, but Agent Tyler’s eyes widened in genuine alarm.  
  
“What, really?”  
  
“Yep. Not a very  _big_  possibility, mind, but still . . .”  
  
She relaxed again, rolling her eyes.  
  
“Right. And if it will, can we do anything to stop it?”  
  
“Not a chance.”  
  
“Okay. Then we’re going to give the Williamses their house back for a bit and get some dinner.”  
  
“Oh, al _right_.”  
  
And that was that. They collected Dr. Adams on their way out, and at the door the Doctor spun on his heel to ask the Mrs. Williams one last question.  
  
“Sorry, ah, how many children do you have?”  
  
“Just Felix. Why?”  
  
“No reason. See you tomorrow!”  
  
~~  
  
It was inadvisable to discuss the case in the middle of Leadworth’s one-and-only somewhat decent restaurant, surrounded by patrons who watched them unsubtly and servers who took much longer than was necessary refilling their glasses. That left Liam alternating between trying not think about the Doctor’s comment about Reality imploding and trying to follow his conversation with Agent Tyler — or Rose, as she had requested Liam call her.   
  
Both attempts proved futile. Listening to Rose and the Doctor turned out to be a lot like watching a television programme when he’d missed the first ten series, except more so. It was as if they’d been together for every waking moment of the past twelve years, and spent a majority of that time thinking up inside jokes. At a couple points he was fairly certain that they read each other’s minds.  
  
Dr. Adams looked vaguely nauseated by the entire affair, and at the end of the evening he pushed his chair away from the table and announced that he would be heading back to London.  
  
“He’ll probably need a lift to the station,” Rose commented, frowning after him. “It’s freezing out . . .”  
  
“I can drive him,” Liam said, not giving himself time to think about what he was offering. “I’m sure you two would like to . . . that is, the Doctor needs to brief you on the case.”  
  
“That’d be great, thanks,” said Rose, smiling, while the Doctor mouthed ‘Nice save’ beside her.  
  
“No problem,” answered Liam, not entirely truthfully. Dr. Adams was not exactly the sort of person he wanted to be alone with on a dark road, but it was cold, and after seeing Rose and the Doctor fawn over each other all evening it seemed cruel to separate them — or to make Dr. Adams watch them any longer.  
  
“We’ll get you a room,” Rose told him. “That little bed-and-breakfast down the road, remember it?”   
  
“Yeah. Thanks. See you in the morning, I suppose.”   
  
“Goodnight, Liam,” Rose said kindly.  
  
“Don’t let Dr. Adams bite,” the Doctor added, and then let out a pained huff as Rose elbowed him. Liam left them bickering good-heartedly behind him.  
  
He caught Dr. Adams just as the older man was about to step out into the frigid air. Night had already fallen, the meager warmth of early spring gone with the sunlight.   
  
“Hey,” he greeted, holding up the keys to the Land Rover. “Thought you could use a lift.”  
  
Dr. Adams raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t refuse. Halfway through the short journey, Liam finally blurted out the question which had been bothering him all afternoon.   
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
“Why do you think?”   
  
Liam frowned, thinking. Dr. Adams hadn’t actually  _done_  anything . . . had he? The Doctor had been doing most of the actual investigation, Liam driving and handling his equipment when he was busy . . . with Mrs. Williams. Dr. Adams had been the one to cut in when things got tense, when Mrs. Williams questions became prying and the Doctor’s tone became dangerous.  
  
“Are you his . . . his handler?” It made sense, in a way. The Doctor certainly seemed like he needed someone to keep an eye on him, and Dr. Adams was at least not easily intimidated, flattered, or impressed.   
  
“The Doctor has a lot of buttons,” was Dr. Adams’ smooth non-answer. “It is in everyone’s best interests that there is someone with him who knows how to avoid the more hazardous ones.”  
  
“Oh.” They fell into an uneasy silence, which Liam broke again a few moments later. “So, those stories —”  
  
“When I poisoned him he went out like a light and took five hours to find the antidote.” Dr. Adams let it sink in for a beat and then added, in a tone which was somehow even more serious than his habitual deadpan, “Most of the others are true.”  
  
“Even . . . ?” The rest of the question seemed to shrivel and die in the back of Liam’s throat. Some of the stories were more than he could give voice to — whispered rumors of confessions forced out by accidental truth serums and desperate situations and psychic weapons, of threats which chilled the blood and turned the stomach, of a man who was so far from human it was hard to imagine how he passed for one.   
  
Dr. Adams shot him a look, eyes glittering and lips curled in a mirthless imitation of a smile, and didn’t answer.  
  
~~  
  
Liam nursed a black coffee in the back of the Land Rover as they headed back to the Williams’. He had been tossing and turning for most of the night, unable to sleep when his mind insisted on returning to the Doctor’s off-hand comment about Reality imploding, not to mention the dizzying array of contradictory facets which was the man himself. The bed and breakfast’s very, very thin walls had not been helpful in that regard.  
  
At least now the Doctor and Rose seemed capable of keeping their hands off of each other for more than a few minutes at a time. In fact, they had barely stepped out of the car when Rose suggested they split up.  
  
“I’ll talk to Mrs. Williams,” she said. “You two go build your multi-extractor whatever.”  
  
“Hypersensitive multi-wave extrapolator,” the Doctor corrected.  
  
“Oh, of course,” said Rose, nodding with exaggerated solemnity. “Should have known.”  
  
“I think you’re humoring me,” said the Doctor as they made their way up the path.   
  
“No wonder people say you’re a genius.”  
  
Mrs. Williams answered the door, greeting them with unveiled annoyance which quickly turned to an outright glare as the Doctor slipped around her and up the stairs.   
  
“Don’t you dare break anything, clone-man!” she called after him as Liam edged through the doorway and followed.   
  
He found the Doctor in the same room from before, pulling tools and machinery and tangles of wire from his pockets. He glanced up with an apologetic grimace.   
  
“It’s a bit of a mess, I know. You just can’t get the micro-circuitry for any decent multi-purpose tool around here . . .”  
  
“Looks fine to me,” said Liam honestly, choosing not to ask whether ‘around here’ meant the country or the planet. “Looks brilliant, actually.” He had seen more than his share of alien tools and technology, but the Doctor’s collection of gadgets was impressive even by Torchwood’s standards. He wondered how many of them were supposed to be filed away somewhere instead of in the Doctor’s coat, but decided that plausible deniability was the better part of valor.  
  
“Really?” the Doctor questioned, looking a little startled, and glanced from him back to the jumbled collection. He grinned suddenly, bright and genuine. “It is a bit, isn’t it? Now!” He clapped his hands together. “We should get to work.”  
  
Ten minutes later Liam was debating technical specifications with possibly the brightest mind on the planet, and feeling a little guilty for enjoying himself so much when the Universe might be ending.   
  
“Wouldn’t copper be more efficient? It’s a better conductor.”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s not strong enough. Wouldn’t hold up under the oscillations.”   
  
“But look, with the wire you’ve got now you’d have to use so much power that the whole thing would short.”   
  
“. . . ah. I see what you’re saying. That is rather problematic.”  
  
“We could add a dampener —”  
  
“Nah, wouldn’t work. It’d interfere with the readings too much.”  
  
“Not if we kept the coefficient between —”  
  
A noise in the doorway made them both look up. Mr. Williams hovered awkwardly, looking like he wanted nothing more than to flee the room.   
  
“Hi. Um. Sorry. Amy wanted me to, um, keep an eye on you. Said something about how she . . . knew you.” Mr. Williams swallowed, and seemed to gather his resolve. “Does she?” he questioned the Doctor. “Know you, I mean.”  
  
The Doctor stared at him for a moment with an unreadable expression, then turned back to Liam.   
  
“That dampener’s a good idea. You work on that; I’ll see about the energy filters.”  
  
Liam nodded his assent and went to work. Behind him, Mr. Williams let out a sigh, apparently resigned to not getting an answer.  
  
“Rory, is it?” the Doctor asked abruptly, not looking up from his task.   
  
“Yeah. That’s, uh, that’s me. Rory Williams. Hello.”  
  
“How long have you known Amy, Rory Williams?”  
  
“Ages. Ever since we were kids. We were in the same class in primary school.”   
  
“Rose was nineteen when I met her,” the Doctor said, and Liam nearly fumbled the weird futuristic material which he was trying to mold into shape. The Doctor carried on as if talking about his past — his  _personal_  past — was something he did every day. “You should’ve seen her bedroom. Actually, it’s probably best you didn’t. You may have been blinded by the sheer amount of hot pink. Amy ever go through a stage like that?”  
  
“No, she hates pink,” said Mr. Williams, shaking his head. “Something about . . . her hair or her complexion or something. I don’t really understand when she talks fashion.”  
  
“No, I can see that,” agreed the Doctor, and barreled on before Mr. Williams could respond. “And Felix is your only child?”  
  
“Yeah. We always planned on having more, but . . .” He shrugged.   
  
The Doctor pulled off his glasses and rocked back, his gaze turning somber and serious.   
  
“You’ve never lost a child? No miscarriages?”   
  
“No,” Mr. Williams replied. “It just . . . never happened, I guess. No, it’s always gone smoothly, thank god. Or, as smoothly as anything goes when Amy’s involved.” He chuckled, fondness breaking through the nervous discomfort which seemed to be his customary expression. “I remember her complaining because that whole end-of-the-world thing was going on a while back, you know, all that rubbish about the Mayan calendar. Only everyone was using it as an excuse to go out and get plastered, on top of all the Christmas parties and things, but she couldn’t drink anything because she was pregnant.”  
  
“When was that?” The Doctor’s voice was light, but he had gone very still.   
  
“Well, Mayans, must’ve been . . . 2012, yeah?”  
  
“Eight years ago,” the Doctor said, rising to his feet. “And Felix, how old is he?”   
  
“He’ll turn six next . . .” Mr. Williams trailed off. “. . . month.” He shook his head, looking confused. “Oh. I guess I’m . . . thinking of something else. A Christmas party, or something.”  
  
“Guess you are,” the Doctor agreed mildly.   
  
“I’ll just . . . go see if Amy needs anything,” said Mr. Williams, and left, still frowning. The Doctor watched him go.  
  
Liam cleared his throat.   
  
“What was that all about?” he asked, trying to keep his voice casual through the odd chill which had settled in his stomach. The Doctor turned, his expression dark and his eyes darker.  
  
“Look around.”  
  
Liam looked. Boxes were stacked around them, shoved out of the way to make room. An old lamp stood in the corner, providing them with light which was adequate, if not exactly ideal for the delicate work they were doing. In front of him, where there was supposedly a crack in the fabric of time and space (whatever  _that_  meant), was a wall. It was a pretty average sort of wall, solid and a little dingy and —  
  
And pink.  
  
With flower decals stuck to it.   
  
The sort of wall which belonged to a little girl.   
  
The sort of wall which belonged to the sort of little girl Amy Williams had never been.   
  
 _Oh god._  
  
The Williamses had had a daughter.


	6. Chapter 6

“What do we do?” Liam questioned, when he could force his suddenly dry mouth to form words.   
  
“What we’ve been doing,” said the Doctor, turning back to the half-assembled extrapolator. “We figure out what’s happening and we try to put a stop to it.”  
  
“But — their daughter. They don’t even  _remember_ –”  
  
“I know,” said the Doctor, looking up again to meet his eyes. “Believe me, Liam, I know. But she’s not the first, and we don’t get on top of this she won’t be the last. Right now I need you to focus. Can you do that?”  
  
Liam swallowed hard.  
  
“Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, I think so.”  
  
The Doctor held his gaze for a moment, then nodded.  
  
“Good man.”  
  
An uneasy silence threatened to settle between them, so Liam cleared his throat and broke it preemptively.   
  
“You sound like my boss.”  
  
“Yeah?” replied the Doctor, in a forcibly light tone to match Liam’s. “How’s that?”  
  
“Oh, you know, he’s kind of the stoic type. Level-headed. Very ‘keep calm and carry on.’”  
  
“He?” the Doctor questioned sharply, his gaze snapping back up. “The head of Torchwood Cardiff is a woman.”   
  
“Uh — no,” said Liam, disconcerted. “It  _was_ , a while back, but that was years ago.”  
  
“That was yesterday,” said the Doctor grimly, and Liam felt the chill in his stomach solidify into a solid block of ice.  
  
“You mean — I —  _no_ ,” he protested. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory.” There wasn’t. There couldn’t be. There were no gaps, nothing beyond the normal fuzziness — but, wait. Would Stephen have really said that to a man? Would that even make sense? Unless . . . but, no, he must have said it to someone else. But who . . . ?  
  
“Focus, Liam,” the Doctor reminded him.  
  
“Yeah, okay.” His own voice sounded distant to his ears, but he forced his mind back to his task.  
  
It was safer than letting it stray.  
  
~~  
  
“How’s it going?”   
  
Rose’s voice broke through the heavy mood which had settled over Liam and the Doctor, but failed to dissipate it completely. It was difficult to feel anything resembling lightness in a room which belonged to a little girl who had now never existed, with a hole in his head which he couldn’t even feel. Still, the Doctor brightened marginally when he looked up to answer his wife.   
  
“Coming along. What did you find out?”  
  
“Good news and bad news,” she said, leaning against the doorway. “Good news is, you were right. The other Doctor knows about the cracks. Bad news is, you were right. They’re everywhere. Not just Earth, not just 2020. They’re in the past, the future, other planets, the other Universe . . . and other you doesn’t seem to have any more idea of where they came from or what to do about them than we do.”  
  
“Oh, I highly doubt that,” said the Doctor darkly.   
  
“You think Amy’s lying?” Rose questioned, frowning.   
  
“I think he’s lying. The other Doctor.”  
  
“How come?”  
  
The Doctor sat back on his heels with a sigh, and Liam, curious, put down his tools to listen.   
  
“From what Amy said, it sounds like he met her right after he regenerated. She was a child, frightened, calling for help. Regenerations are tricky, mine —  _his_  — especially so. External circumstances can have an impact on how they turn out. Add that to the fact that she calls him her imaginary friend — probably he’s gone all enigmatic mentor. Again. He’s not going to tell her anything that might worry her pretty little head; not until it’s absolutely necessary. Probably a little after that, to be honest.”  
  
“Must drive her mad,” Rose commented, arching her eyebrows sardonically. “Good job you never do anything like that.”  
  
The Doctor shot her an affronted look, but apparently decided not to dignify that with a response.  
  
Liam cleared his throat.   
  
“Sorry,” he said, when they both turned to him. “Why does it matter what the . . . other Doctor knows?”  
  
They both looked startled, as if the question had never even occurred to them.  
  
“. . . oh,” said the Doctor, blinking. “I suppose it’s mainly because he has a TARDIS and we haven’t.”  
  
“He has a what?”   
  
“T-A-R-D-I-S,” the Doctor spelled out. “Stands for Time and Relative Dimensions in Space.”  
  
“It’s a spaceship which travels in time,” Rose said, rather more helpfully. “Or a time machine which also teleports.”   
  
“It doesn’t —” The Doctor began, and then sighed. “I could probably explain the physics to you, but only if you gave me fifty years and let me teach you High Gallifreyan. The point is, it’s much easier to sort out problems with time when you’re not stuck living it linearly.”  
  
“Oh. So . . . you think he’s going to fix it?” Liam questioned cautiously, aware that he may be treading on shaky ground.   
  
“Maybe,” the Doctor said evasively, dropping his eyes back to the device in his hands.   
  
“If he does,” said Rose, “or if we do, or whatever, will it bring them back? Sarah Jane and the others?”  
  
“I don’t know,” the Doctor said shortly. “I’m sorry, I just don’t.”  
  
“Alright,” said Rose, raising her hands in a mollifying gesture. “I’ll just —”   
  
She was cut off by a sudden whirring as the Doctor snapped one last piece into place.  
  
“Aha!” the Doctor exclaimed, leaping to his feet, going from defensive to triumphant in an instant. “Look at that, Liam!” he said cheerfully, clapping him on the back. “What a beauty!”  
  
“Yeah,” Liam agreed, smiling despite the situation. It really was a fantastic machine, for all that it was makeshift and messy — or maybe because of that. It had the same sort of haphazard brilliance as the Doctor himself. Except — “Hang on, did we remember the artron filters?”  
  
“Oh, we did,” the Doctor confirmed, his eyes widening. “That’s  _with_  the filters. Blimey.”  
  
“What could produce that much energy?” Liam asked, frowning. “And what’s that?” he added, pointing to a reading he couldn’t interpret.   
  
“That’s —” The Doctor stopped suddenly, his eyes going even wider and the color draining from his face. “Huon particles.”   
  
“What’s that?” Rose questioned. “Doctor?”   
  
The Doctor merely shook his head, his throat working silently, and Rose was at his side in an instant.   
  
“Doctor,” she repeated, firm and tender, her hand finding his and clutching tightly. “What are Huon particles?”  
  
“Gone,” said the Doctor, a bit faintly. He blinked, shuddered, and visibly pulled himself together. “They’re gone,” he repeated, more strongly. “Destroyed, eons ago. The other Torchwood managed to synthesize some, but those are gone, too, I made sure of it. There’s only one place they still exist.” He looked down to meet his wife’s gaze. “The heart of the TARDIS.”  
  
Rose’s eyes widened in response, and Liam was once again left feeling that he would have been a lot more frightened if he had a bit more context. He kept his mouth shut, however, unwilling to invade the tumultuous bubble of shared emotion which seemed to enclose the Doctor and Rose.   
  
“What does that mean?” Rose asked. “Is it — it’s not —”  
  
“It is,” the Doctor confirmed bleakly. “Nothing except a TARDIS could cause these sorts of readings, barely anything else could cause this kind of damage to the fabric of time and space — and no TARDIS could survive such a powerful energy surge.”  
  
“It could be a different TARDIS,” said Rose, but it was clear even to Liam that she was trying to convince herself more than anything. Indeed, the Doctor shook his head.   
  
“There’s only one TARDIS, Rose. You know that.”   
  
“You thought you were the only Time Lord,” she challenged. “Look how that turned out.”  
  
“That’s different,” said the Doctor, an edge of irritation entering his voice. “The TARDIS is transdimensional; she’d know if one of her sisters survived, no matter where or when it was. And a TARDIS can’t become human to hide.”  
  
“But then . . . the Doctor —”  
  
The Doctor jerked away from her, backing into the wall and running a hand over his face.  
  
“The  _other_  Doctor,” he bit out, “sh —  _might_  have gone with her. Or . . .” He let out his breath through his nose, jaw tense. “He might have caused it.”  
  
“Don’t say that.”  
  
“It’s true,” said the Doctor harshly. “You know perfectly well what he’s capable of.”  
  
“He wouldn’t.”   
  
“If he’s alone — ” the Doctor insisted, but Rose cut him off.   
  
“No. He’s not alone, he’s not dead, and he didn’t do this. He  _didn’t_ ,” she repeated fiercely.   
  
“Why not?” the Doctor questioned, exasperation and frustration coloring his tone. “Why won’t you even consider —”  
  
“ _Because then it’s my fault_!”  
  
There was a brief, stunned silence. Rose was flushed and breathing hard, the Doctor looked stricken, and Liam was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t there. Then the Doctor spoke a single word, soft and broken.  
  
“Rose . . .”  
  
“I chose you,” said Rose, more quietly, though her eyes were damp and her voice shook. “And I’ve never regretted it, not for an instant. But if he’s out there somewhere, dead, or worse, because there was no one there to hold his hand . . .” He voice cracked and she stopped, covering her mouth with her hand and shaking her head helplessly.  
  
“Rose.” The Doctor stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her head and closing his eyes. “Oh, Rose.”  
  
“There was someone there,” said a voice from the doorway, making them all jump. The Doctor as Rose broke apart, though their hands remained intertwined. Mrs. Williams was watching them with her arms crossed. “The Doctor isn’t alone,” she said, and Liam couldn’t tell if it was meant as a reassurance or a challenge. “He’s got me. Other me.”  
  
Rose drew in a breath, let it out, and smiled, equal parts melancholy and happiness.   
  
“That’s good,” she stated, her grip tightening on the Doctor’s hand. “Doctor?”   
  
The Doctor was avoiding everyone’s eyes, his face dark and unreadable. Rose reached out with her free hand and touched his cheek, gently turning his head so she could look him in the eye.  
  
“That’s good,” she said, to him and him alone, and Liam averted his eyes. There seemed to be some silent communication between them, too intimate to fathom and certainly too intimate to watch. He still heard the Doctor’s reply, though, low and rough.  
  
“Yeah. That’s good.”  
  
There was an abrupt shift, like the crackle of electricity in the air, and suddenly the Doctor was in motion again.  
  
“Right!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together. “First things first! We need to get people away from these cracks.”  
  
“I’ll call Pete,” said Rose, pulling out her mobile. “You’ve got a way of pinpointing them?”  
  
“It’s not that accurate yet, but Liam and I can refine it once we get back to London,” the Doctor answered. “Right, Liam?”  
  
“Absolutely,” Liam agreed, snapping to attention. “I mean, we’d probably have to get some more sensitive —”  
  
“Won’t be a problem once we have Pete on board,” the Doctor cut him off. “Now, I’ll have to look at some of the others, obviously, but it looks like this one, at least, doesn’t have much of a range. Short-term all we’ll need to do —”  
  
Liam never found out what the needed to do, because at that moment —  
  
\- or, maybe not that one, precisely —   
  
\- he woke up.

 

 


	7. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, the final installment! Thank you so much to everyone reading and doubly so to anyone who took the time to kudo and/or comment. Your feedback and encouragement mean a lot to me. I hope this didn’t turn out too confusing – or at least, not any more so than the canon episodes it was built around (keep in mind, this is meant to be more or less canon compliant). I have plenty of details in my head which didn’t fit into the story, so feel free to ask if you’d like clarification on some of the more timey-wimey points – or the character dynamics, or anything else, really.
> 
> Onward!

Amy Williams awoke with a gasp and was shooting out of bed before she had time to construct a single coherent thought. She burst into her daughter’s room, scooped the startled girl from her bed, and pressed her nose into her hair, inhaling the sweet scent of children’s shampoo and trying to calm her racing heart.   
  
“Mummy? What’s going on?”  
  
“Amy, what’s wrong?”   
  
Amy looked from the frightened child in her arms to her befuddled husband in the doorway.   
  
“I . . .” She shook her head. “Nothing. Just a nightmare. Sorry, honey.” She smoothed the eight-year-old’s hair and let her pull away. “Everything’s fine. Go get your brother up; it’s almost time to get ready for school.”  
  
The memories (were they memories?) were already fading, and she smiled as she watched her daughter run off. Melody, the girl who had been named after a dream.   
  
~~  
  
Rose Tyler awoke to the sound of breathless laughter and was reaching for her husband before she even opened her eyes. The cool hand which hers found gripped back firmly, and the laughter tapered off, much to her relief. It was the sort of laughter born of adrenaline with just a touch of hysteria, and in her opinion, it had no place in their bed first thing in the morning.   
  
“You alright?” she questioned as she pushed herself up and peered down at the Doctor.  
  
“Oh, I’m excellent,” the Doctor replied, grinning widely. “Spectacular, in fact. I am absolutely brilliant; I really am.”   
  
“Glad to hear it,” said Rose with a smile. She pressed a kiss to his lips before climbing out of bed, making a mental note to ask him what he was talking about later. “I’m going to get a shower. Don’t forget to put a suit on when you’re done complimenting yourself; we’re meeting with that journalist at nine.”   
  
“I thought we agreed that Pete would handle all that media rubbish,” the Doctor said, his face falling somewhat.   
  
“He thought we might want to do this one ourselves,” Rose replied, as off-handedly as she could manage. She turned away to hide her smile as she added, “It’s someone called Sarah Jane Smith.”  
  
~~  
  
Liam Price awoke with a curse and was groping blearily for several moments before he managed to turn off his alarm. He rolled out of bed and rubbed sleep from his eyes as he got ready for work. He had a feeling that he had had a really weird dream, but he couldn’t remember any details. All he recalled was a potent mix of excitement and fear with a hint of . . . exasperation?  
  
Huh.  
  
He was still trying to chase the remnants of it when he walked into the Hub, and he nearly ran into a very agitated Jamie.  
  
“There’s a call for you,” he said, nearly vibrating with excitement as he gestured towards the Boss’ office. “Trust me, you want to take it.”  
  
Liam gave him a curious look, but he only waved him on even more frantically. Stephen was pretending not to watch him as he jogged up the stairs, and Brian was openly staring. Liam swallowed a sudden knot of nerves and stuck his head through the door of the office.  
  
“Jamie said there was a call for me, Boss?”   
  
“Good thing it’s for you; I have no idea what he’s on about,” said the Boss, tilting the phone away from her mouth. “Do you know what spatial genetic multiplicity is?” Agent Gwen Cooper questioned, and Liam shrugged.   
  
“Who is it?”   
  
“The Doctor.”  
  
Liam nearly dropped his coffee.  
  
“The — I —  _what_?”   
  
The Boss just smirked and tossed him the phone. He somehow managed to catch it and bring it to his ear with fumbling fingers.   
  
“H-hello?”   
  
 _“Liam!”_  exclaimed a cheerful voice on the other end of the line as if they were old friends.  _“Just checking to make sure everything’s back in place; seems like it is. Out of curiosity, you don’t remember anything, do you?”_  
  
“I — um — no? I mean . . . sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
 _“No, no, course you don’t. Quite right. Don’t worry about it; everything’s sorted. Not quite sure how the other me managed it, but he did. Love it when I do that. Probably helped that I was here, of course; who knows what sort of holes were left in the Universes which **don’t**  have time-sensitive transcendental people keeping an eye on them.”_  
  
“Um . . . yes, sir?” Liam tried, thoroughly bewildered.   
  
 _“Don’t call me —”_  the Doctor —  _the_  Doctor, he was talking to the  _Doctor_  — began, and then sighed.  _“Oh, never mind. You’re brilliant, Liam; you really are. Sharp mind, good in a crisis. Torchwood is lucky to have you.”_  
  
“Th-thank you, sir,” Liam managed when he finally found his voice, but the Doctor had already hung up.  
  
Liam stared blankly at the phone for a moment.   
  
“Price!” the Boss barked suddenly. “We’ve got a call!”  
  
Liam jerked into motion, pushing the strange conversation to the back of his mind.  
  
At least it was a story to tell.


End file.
